


friday i'm in love

by becka



Category: One Direction (Band), Radio 1 RPF
Genre: Coming Out, Established Relationship, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-07
Updated: 2013-05-07
Packaged: 2017-12-10 15:39:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,946
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/787682
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/becka/pseuds/becka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Nick and Harry decide to come out about their relationship. Obviously, the first step is Showbot.</p>
            </blockquote>





	friday i'm in love

**Author's Note:**

> This is completely self-indulgent. I just wanted to write cute coming out fic that didn't require a lot of context. Needless to say, although this uses a bunch of real detail about Nick's show, it is entirely fictional.

"It's one last lie in the service of a larger truth," Harry said seriously. Nick accused him of swotting and ruffled his hair. But honestly he's relieved. As much as he wants to give Harry every single thing his reckless heart desires, he doesn't want Simon Cowell knifing him in his sleep or aught. So they've told their agents--not asked this time, that's a mistake they won't make again--and this is only the first step in a larger campaign. They've each got an interview lined up at _Attitude_ , and although this particular stunt will look spontaneous, the publicity machine is churning away in the background already. Nick feels a little dizzy and Matt has asked him five times this morning if he's really sure about this because they could just rewrite the feature and Nick could do something a little less dramatic. But Nick has not shied away from drama in his time at Radio 1.

"It's time for a Stop the Showbot round."

Nick takes a deep breath.

"Rita Ora hates pakora."

He thinks of Harry back in his flat with the dog and the radio, probably vibrating off the couch with nerves. Nick's got his phone off, for the first time in breakfast show history, according to Finchy, but he fiddles it with his fingers anyway.

"Jared Leto likes to wear stilettos."

Matt is staring at him, really unhelpfully, and Nick swivels his chair a bit to avoid his eyes.

"Professor Green has left Millie Mackintosh for Macklemore."

He wants some sort of cue, a moment to prepare himself, but it's too late to ask for that now.

"MTV has scheduled a mud wrestling battle between the cast of _Geordie Shore_ and the cast of _Jersey Shore_."

"Stop!" says the caller, and Nick can't blame her because if he didn't know what was coming he would have said that was true, too.

"No," says Showbot. "One Direction's Niall is finally dating Demi Lovato."

"Stop!" says the caller again.

"No." And Nick knows how Finchy's mind works, knows what's next suddenly. "One Direction's Harry is dating Radio 1's own charming Nick Grimshaw."

"Stop," says Nick, and his voice sounds weird, almost angry.

"That is correct," says Showbot.

There is dead silence from the caller for a moment, and Nick realizes they probably should have briefed her beforehand. There is not enough air in the room, and if the caller doesn't say anything, he'll have to talk first. But then she says, "Really?"

"That is correct," says Showbot.

"Yes," echoes Nick. "That is correct. And now you've heard it here first."

Matt's gesturing for Nick to turn up his mike, so Nick does. "We're all very excited for the happy couple," he says. "And we hope they'll be disgusting together for a long time to come. Now perhaps we should hear who's won today's Show Quizness."

"Yes," Nick agrees, and he's sure no one's ever going to believe how carefully planned this all was because he sounds like a complete ass right now.

"At the end of the quiz," says Showbot, "Caller on the phone, you are the winner."

"Congratulations, Haley from Bristol! I thought I would have gotten a few bonus points for that last answer."

"You had inside information though," Matt interrupts, and Nick shushes him, getting some of his composure back.

"Will you be able to join us tomorrow to play again?"

"Absolutely," the caller says. "And Grimmy, can I just say? He's a lucky guy."

Nick laughs, relieved. "Well, he's a popstar and that. But thank you, Haley from Bristol! Flattery will get you everywhere. I think we're going to play a record now. This is the new AlunaGeorge, and it's wonderful." He starts the track, takes off his headset, and puts his head in his hands. He's tempted to turn on his phone, but that would end badly, and he knows it. But after a moment Ian puts a hand on his shoulder.

"Harry's just texted that I should tell you he loves you. And that he'll be naked in your bed when you get home."

"He doesn't have a lot of shame."

"Nor should he," puts in LMC. "He's just tweeted as well. 'Love show quizness. Great feature, @grimmers.' People are being predictably stupid."  
Matt presses a water bottle into Nick's hands. Nick looks up at him. "No drinking in the studio," Nick says meekly.

"Special circumstances," says Matt. "But don't tell anyone."

Nick wants to ask about the horrible things people are already saying on Twitter, but LMC probably won't tell him. And that’s probably good of her.

He gets himself together enough to segue AlunaGeorge into Ellie Goulding and then sits back again. In three minutes, he's going to have to do another link. And either address the situation, or go on as usual. Thank god it’s Friday though, because at least the Nixtape means no screening show reviewers or Generation Lame callers whilst Radio 1’s phone lines are jammed by people asking prying questions about his personal life.

“Well,” Nick says, over the last few notes of Ellie, “so this has been an interesting morning, hasn’t it? Showbot’s given the country a little glimpse into my life and the life of longtime friend of the show, Harry Styles. And I can promise you’ll be hearing more about that, but for now we’ve got the Nixtape starting soon, which is an entire hour of nothing but good music. And this week, our special guest DJ, who’ll be with us from 9:30, is none other than Radio 1’s own queen of the nighttime Annie Mac, slumming it with us on morning radio. And if there’s something you’d like Annie to play on this beautiful sunny Friday, just give us a text at eight-double-one-double-nine, and we’ll see what we can do for you. For now, this is a new song from Wretch 32, which was my big thing last week, and we’re sure it’s going to sound so good for the rest of the summer.” It’s autopilot, the words he says every week, and he knows them off by heart, so it’s easy to let his brain go off elsewhere, to Harry waiting naked in his bed.

LMC and Fiona are bent over the computer screen, and Fiona’s got a murderous look on her face, but Nick’s got a popstar at home, so fuck it. Let the internet throw all the tantrums it likes.

He mixes a couple of slow jams he thought were the epitome of romance as a teenager in with the usual dance tracks and current hits, and feels a hint of nostalgic glee until Ian ruins it by pointing out that Harry was in nursery when most of these songs came out. Nick finishes off with “Friday I’m in Love” and beats Ian to the punch by pointing out that Harry was not even conceived when that one hit the singles chart.

Annie hugs him hard, says she heard Show Quizness and she’s so, so proud, and they grin at each other in the speaking way that only people who’ve been friends a long time can. Having his phone off means he hasn’t gotten the congratulations in addition to the death threats, and it’s nice to have somebody tell him it was real, that crazy thing he just did on the radio in front of the entire nation. Fearne comes in at ten till, and she honestly didn’t know about him and Harry, so he can tell she’s curious. But she’s also smart and can see the way he’s watching the clock. “You’ve got someone waiting at home,” she says. “Shoo.”

“Popstars don’t like to be kept waiting,” Annie adds.

“I’m about to turn the radio over to the lovely Fearne Cotton,” says Nick, over the intro to the morning’s last song, “a lady who’ll be taking you through until 12:45, but before I let you get on with your Friday, I’d like to say thank you, very sincerely, to every single one of you for listening this morning.” 

Annie brings the music up, and Nick doesn’t run for the lift, but he walks very fast.

*

Nick has never fooled himself that all the paparazzi in London didn’t know where he lived, but seeing the mess of cars blocking his street is still bizarre and a little frightening. He’s never been this kind of news before. He parks around the corner and goes in through the back garden. It’s quiet, like it usually is, and it’s hard to believe there are so many people clamouring just the other side of the building. He hopes Harry’s all right.

“Hello?” he calls hopefully, locking the door behind him. The dog runs to meet him with a clatter of toenails and a wagging tail, and he scoops her up for a brief cuddle. “Harry, has the dog been out this morning?”

“Yes!” is the muffled answer, and when he puts the dog down she whines at the closed bedroom door.

“Oh love,” he tells her. “I don’t really think you want to go in there.” But Nick does. This is his reward for whatever truly awful thing is trending about him on Twitter right now.

“Hey,” says Harry, with his biggest, brightest grin. “You’re the DJ who’s dating that nubile young popstar, aren’t you?” Nick savours the sprawl of him on the white sheets, pale skin and dark tattoos, his cock clutched in his fist, the reddened head poking out.

“And you’re the popstar who’s dating that DJ who looks old enough to be his father,” Nick replies.

Harry gives his cock a luxurious stroke. “If you want me to call you daddy, Nick, all you have to do is ask. Come here.”

Nick kicks off his trainers and peels off his socks. He knees up onto the bed and runs a hand over Harry’s belly, from the tips of the moth’s antennae to the sparse dark hair below his navel. He kisses the corner of Harry’s mouth. “What do you want, babe?”

“Have everything I want,” Harry replies, arching into Nick’s touch. “I have you, and now everybody knows it. Kiss me more?”

Nick tips Harry’s chin up and brings their mouths together in a deep kiss, his tongue stroking slowly over Harry’s. He starts to gather Harry into his arms, but he’s still wearing his jeans, and the fabric rubs roughly against Harry’s bare skin. He pulls away to strip them off.

“There are about a thousand photographers outside that window right now,” Nick says conversationally. Harry is still just watching him with lazy, heavy-lidded eyes.

“A thousand is a lot. You must be really important.”

“Something like that.” He crawls back up over Harry, elbows and knees, kissing him softly, joy and uncertainty caroming around in his chest because the world is different now. He let a fake robot say one sentence on the radio, and that’s all it took in the end. He doesn’t ever have to call Harry “my friend” again. “I want to make you come,” he tells Harry, biting at his lower lip. “But not unless you tell me how.”

Harry moans, clenches his hand around his cock. “Maybe in your mouth. Or could I, could I ride you? Or god, like this is good too. I don’t care.” He wriggles under Nick, trying to get closer.

Nick chuckles. “Relax, love. We’re not going to be able to leave the house all day. I can have you coming dry by the end of it.”

“Promise?”

Nick doesn’t even bother to answer, just slides down to suck at the silky-hot head of Harry’s cock. He’s ready to get started.


End file.
